


Luck of the Draw

by cursedwurm



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Canon Compliant, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm
Summary: Qrow hasn't been on a date in a while. It shows.(Set after v7ch3)
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 468





	Luck of the Draw

**Author's Note:**

> FAIR GAME RIGHTZ, BABEY
> 
> Edit: my twitter is @cursedwurm and my Tumblr is @snapdraqons please follow me there uwu

The hangar is silent and still, completely empty save for one person, sat underneath an aircraft cleaning his weapon. 

Qrow is completely drained, exhausted physically from today’s fight in the mines and mentally from no sleep and the odd sensation of sobriety that he hasn’t properly experienced in a long time. He hasn’t touched his flask for nearly five days now though he still has it on him, having slipped it quietly into his pocket before he’d joined Clover on the aircraft. Somehow something in him still desperately needed the comforting weight of it inside his jacket. He keeps his head down and his focus on Harbinger, running the rag in his hand over the blade long after he’s able to see his reflection it. His hand shakes as he does, his knee bouncing uncontrollably up and down- he tries not to think about it too much, forcing his eyes and thoughts to stay fixed on Harbinger- he figures if he keeps his hands occupied he won’t be as tempted to wrap his fingers around his flask and finish what’s left of it-

“You were pretty good out there today, you know.”

A sudden voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up from Harbinger, his hand pausing on its blade.

“Clover,” he says, “...What are you doing out here?” Clover laughs, his hands resting in his pockets. He’s no longer in full uniform, his white jacket gone and his trousers replaced by a pair of black sweatpants. Qrow can’t help but notice that he’s a little-rosy cheeked, his hair slightly messy and stuck to his face with sweat- he can only assume he’s been training, though how he’d managed to find time to between getting back from the mines and his debriefing from Ironwood he has no idea. His chuckle fills the silence, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise-empty hangar as he approached Qrow. 

“I left this in our ship,” he replies, holding up the small four-lead clover charm he’d had pinned to his jacket earlier, “I should really be asking _you_ that - I figured you’d want to rest after today.”

Qrow sighs, putting Harbinger on the floor in front of him and putting the rag in his pocket. “I just wanted a bit of peace and quiet,” he admits, and the instant his weapon leaves his grasp he finds his hand itching to reach for the flask in his pocket. “It’s been a hectic few days,” he continues, “Besides, I’d rather not risk anything happening because of me, not after today’s mission went so well.”

Clover doesn’t answer for a few moments, sitting down with his back against the airship next to Qrow, who turns to face him, suddenly feeling very aware of how close together they are. They make eye contact for a few moments and Clover’s lips turn upwards into a small smile, before Qrow drops his head and looks back down at Harbinger, his face feeling considerably warmer than before. 

“You know,” he hears Clover say, “James told me a lot about you.”

Qrow looks back up again. “He did?” he says, pauses then- “...What did he say, exactly?”

“Oh, you know,” he replies, “The usual. He told me about your semblance and your team… He mentioned that Oscar kid but didn’t go into too much detail.”

“So mostly bad things then, huh?”

Clover shrugs. “Not necessarily,” he says, “He told me you were a capable huntsman and, well, I didn’t doubt that for a second.”

This time it’s Qrow’s turn to chuckle, shaking his head as he lets out a laugh. “I hardly demonstrated that today,” he tells him, “You probably would've been better off without me."

"Really?" Clover tosses his pin into the air, catching it in the other hand, "I don't know if I would've made it out of those mines in one piece without someone looking out for me," he admits, "Besides, between you and me-" he lowers his voice, "- I really enjoyed your company in there."

Qrow looks up, confused, and their eyes meet again. The brilliant white of the hangar’s floodlights flicker overhead, illuminating Clover's face with a cool, pale glow, his green eyes glinting at they catch the light. He smiles warmly, resting his arm on his bent knee, and Qrow swallows, unsure how to respond for a few moments. When he eventually replies, he sounds quiet and unsure, his voice not much more than a mutter. 

“Uhm… thanks,” he says, “...I guess you weren’t bad either.”

Clover rolls his eyes and tuts, but Qrow can tell that there’s no malicious intent behind it, watching as he gets to his feet before holding out his hand to help him do the same. “You know,” he says, “If you’re not going to get some rest, you might as well enjoy yourself.”

Qrow hesitates for a second before taking his hand, allowing him to help him stand up. “...What do you mean?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent plenty of times in other kingdoms,” Clover explains, slipping his four-leaf clover pin into the pocket of his sweatpants, “But I’m still yet to find a city with nightlife like Atlas’. I figured I could show you around.”

Qrow frowns. “This isn’t my first time in Atlas, you know, I-”

Clover doesn’t give him time to finish, already starting to walk away as he says, “Meet me by the Academy’s front entrance at nine,” he gives him a salute and a wink, “I’ll see you there, Branwen.”

Qrow opens his mouth to respond but Clover is out of earshot before the words can even leave his lips, leaving him no choice but to watch him in silence as he disappears through a doorway and into the darkness behind it.

\--

It takes exactly thirty-three minutes and a few sips of a vodka soda for Qrow to realise that Clover has taken him on a date.

The bar they’re in is about half-full; much like the rest of Atlas, its design is modern and sleek, decorated in warm greys and blues with dim mood-lighting to match. Soft, bass-heavy jazz music plays from the speakers in the corners of the room, accompanying the chatter of the other patrons and the clinking of glasses that fills the bar. Clover seems to be a regular here- as the two had entered a barmaid had greeted him and offered him a beer on the house (which he’d politely refused) before taking them to a small, cosy booth overlooking the rest of the city. 

“So,” Clover had said to him, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Qrow swallows, looking down at his hands on the table to avoid eye contact; he still has his hip flask in his pocket, half-full with whiskey that he’s been trying not to think about for the last few days. He’s not entirely sure if he should tell Clover about his... issues at the moment, but feels somewhat rude outright refusing him. He purses his lips before quickly replying, “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he says quickly, figuring that Clover’s job and reputation will stop him from getting a hard beverage.

He’s wrong, and not five minutes later there’s a full glass of vodka soda in front of each of them. Clover takes of sip of his and sighs, relaxing into the booth seat. 

“I needed that,” he says, and Qrow can only laugh nervously, stomach twisting as his knee bounces involuntarily underneath the table. When he doesn’t answer, Clover continues to talk, leaning on his elbow over the table. “You went to Beacon, right?” he asks, taking the lime slice off the edge of his glass and (much to Qrow’s disgust) biting into the flesh.

“Yeah, but it was… a long time ago now…” he answers.

“Really? How long?” Clover says, and Qrow bites his bottom lip in thought.

“It’s coming up to twenty years,” he replies, “...Feels like much longer though.” He looks up at Clover who, to his surprise, seems pretty interested in what he’s saying, watching his closely as he sips his drink.

“Twenty years?” he says with a small smile, “You know, you look pretty good for your age.”

Qrow inhales sharply and opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again when he can't figure out what to say. He blinks in surprise, and before he knows it he's picking up his drink, bringing it to his lips and letting the alcohol slip down his throat like it's nothing. It's a bad move- doing the exact thing he's been trying to avoid for the last few days. The only thing that stop him from chugging the entire glass is the way Clover is eyeing him: he can't tell if it's judgement or something else, but either way there's a glint in his eye that suddenly makes Qrow very wary of his actions.

There's silence for a few seconds, during which Clover catches his gaze, leaning back in his seat as he pushes the ice in his glass around with his straw. Qrow tries to focus on something else in the room; the longer the silence continues the sicker he feels and the more he finds himself having to wring his hands together to avoid picking up his drink again. The silence continues until Qrow can’t take it anymore. He’s pretty sure the alcohol is already affecting him; he’s in no way drunk, but the nerves that it’s causing makes him speak without thinking, leg still shaking under the table as he blurts out-

“Are you flirting with me?”

Qrow’s half expecting Clover to laugh, or just blatantly disagree with him- their relationship is, after all, strictly professional. But to his surprise, the man opposite him just rolls his eyes and smirks.

“Took you long enough to figure out, Branwen,"Clover says, and with that, Qrow is suddenly very, _very_ aware. He’s aware of how small the booth is and how close the two of them are, aware of how the pale blue lights of the bar catch the sea green of Clover’s eyes, how the winks and salutes and small moments of contact during their mission in the mines today were probably more than just professional banter. He’s aware that he’s been on a date this whole time with Clover and now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t help but realise… Clover’s.... Hot. 

_Really_ hot.

_Huh._

Qrow clears his throat, dropping his gaze and breaking eye contact with Clover, feeling his face heating up. It’s been a while since he’s been on… any sort of date, really. Sure, he’s had the odd fling or two, a few hook-ups here and there, but he’s spent the last fifteen years or so too scared (and too drunk) to be getting involved in anything serious. He fiddles with the ring on his index finger, unable to help himself from smiling. “So everything in the mines today was also…?”

“Oh absolutely,” Clover answers without hesitation, “Can you blame me though?” Qrow opens his mouth to respond but he’s interrupted before he can say anything, watching Clover laugh to himself as he finishes the last of his drink. “You’re cute when you’re speechless,” he tells him, and Qrow’s pretty sure his brain short circuits. 

“Thanks,” he says quickly, “Uhhh…. You too.” Wow. _Real smooth._

Rolling his eyes, Clover puts his glass down on the table before reaching over to rest his hands on top of Qrow’s. They’re pleasantly warm considering the weather, his skin surprisingly soft and gentle against his own rough, calloused ones. Qrow looks down at their hands as their fingers intertwine, slotting together perhaps a little too easily. They momentarily make eye contact again, before Clover’s line of sight flicks ever-so-slightly downwards and Qrow finds himself subconsciously licking his suddenly dry lips.

“You’re nervous,” Clover points out. 

“I know.”  
“Why don’t you finish your drink- it’ll help you loosen up a bit.”

Qrow swallows, tightening his grip on his hands. “...I shouldn’t,” he says, “I mean, I-”

“Not a drinker?” Clover raises an eyebrow, his smile turning into a smirk.

“Haven’t been these last few days,” He glances down at his half-full glass for a moment before looking back up at Clover, “... James didn’t tell you about that, did he?”

Clover doesn't answer, but there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before he looks away. Neither of them say anything for a while, but their hands stay intertwined, his thumb running idly over Qrow's knuckles. When the silence is eventually broken, it's Clover who speaks, squeezing his fingers tightly in his own. "I think I got carried away," he says, "Probably should've checked if it was alright with you before dragging you out to a bar."

At this Qrow chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Don't apologize for this," he says, his eyes following Clover's lips as he leans close, over the table, "That's just my lu-"

Qrow doesn't get to finish his sentence; by the time he's processed the feeling of Clover's lips pressed against his own he's already kissing back. When they pull away he's breathless and speechless, staring at Clover with his mouth open and cheeks red.

Clover just grins. "How do you know it's not my luck, huh?" he says, pauses, then- "Now why don't we get out of here?"

Qrow can't quite get the words he wants to say out of his mouth so instead he just nods, watching as he slaps some cash onto the table to pay for their drinks before taking his hand and leading him out of the bar and into the night.

' _Maybe he's right,'_ he thinks to himself, ' _Maybe this isn't my luck after all.'_

**Author's Note:**

> marrow, watching clover drag qrow to his room: gay ppl real????
> 
> clover: it was just a bad dream bro go back to sleep


End file.
